2014, bereft of identity, hybrid of accent
Self-induced annihilation of the yeti in the aircraft hanger
On the group selfie, negative identities say “cheese”
Smiling at their dominion over the half full brigade.

Ascension from the gutter sloth like
Notions of employability slow to diminish
Tergiversation of neurological mischief the catalyst
To thoughts of returning to the half full brigade

Mine Angel of the North
Another birthday in thy family’s bosom
Defying odds, despite nemesis lingering like faeces on gleaming brogue
Foe’s eviction from family home shall never be
Yet smile unrelenting, domain illuminated by your whimsy

Mine Angel of the North
As balladeer John, you’re a legend
Struck at four and two score summers, yet bitterness no friend
Anger deemed futile, energy required for upcoming crusades
An unwinnable war, but battle victories proceed unabated

Mine Angel of the North
Selflessness undiminished by pain and fatigue bequeathed by rancid foe
Brood given unconditional precedence over thyself
The stork, rooster and I wish thee a glorious anniversary of birth
Thy contribution to our existential journey immeasurable

O’night dream, connotation concealed
Recurring visit to furrowed playing fields of youth
Like a spectre, Norn man adorns all white
Only ghosting though is beyond opposition.
Utopian time in No 8 sock tags

O’night dream, connotation concealed
Lately, Norn man’s waking angst mirrored in slumber
Grant respite in unconsciousness to tortured soul
His want a domain of rest while sleeping
A time of equanimity too much to ask?

Traveller aware no brood escapes pain of departure
His kin expectations unreasonable not
One more for the road, as proffered by Francis Albert
As family of Caledonian name seeking boarding higher than Gate 81
Clan Destine in the dark

Look after our Girl, Canada
Domain of Maple Leaf, Mountie, Moose
Thou hath lured our girl from her Anglo hoose
Land claimed by Cabot for an English king
Take his descendants subject under thine wing
Timbits, Molson Dry, Nova Scotian donair
Yorkshire lass has sacrificed puddings to consume thine fine fare
Metropolis’ of Calgary, Toronto, Vancouver
She’ll ne’r say vacuum, to her it’s to hoover
Birthplace of Buble, Dion, Gosling
For thine sake, on karaoke night don’t let her sing
The dominion provider of Spock’s gaffer
Please forgive this prose that couldn’t be naffer
She adores outdoor activities, is enamoured consuming sliders
Be aware though, the lady freaks over potato chips and spiders
British Columbia, Ontario, Alberta
She answers to the name Rach not Gerta (……. look, you try get a rhyme for Alberta!)

Unrelenting detritus, any plans to move on?
Like fab quartet mused, fool on the hill’s wants are excessive not
Nowt high maintenance sought by nowhere man
Peace of mind his solitary goal on mystery tour
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
His mother should know, but isn’t sure.

Rudderless fool, hill in situ
Sees the sun going down; while the eyes in head
Witness revolutions of globe
Nowhere man refuses to recant creative musings
Lifetime of acquiescence a strategy long gone
Difference now embraced, negative spouting disregarded with distain.

In globe where happiness sold with prefix ‘i’
There is not ‘i’ in contentment, unless misspelt
There is ‘i’ in misguided, foolish, addiction, possessions and delusional
What brings long-term fulfilment, queries proletariat?
What’s worth of keeping up with the Jones’?
Their discontentment akin to yours
Only further fiscally challenged by thy folly.

Should the Jones’ role models be?
Should not the genuinely happy be sought for thy redemption?
Contentment a chalice well concealed
Thought required uncovering the veiled cup
Edify the misguided on strategy spend
As conclusion of sonnet my priority now
While I procure magic beans for our haggard old cow.

Are epiphanies worthy of guerdon?
Or are delusions unfurling from cranial corners?
How gauge thy work in portal prose?
Paean world a theme park, no sanctions of height or write
Quality measurements an unknown quantity
Quantity measures correctly usurped by quality
Literary yield immaterial, calibre decrees sonnet significance.

Legacy

“I was in Bagdad when you were in your dad’s bag.”
Proffered forefather, mischievous of trait, maternal of line
Playfully admonishing grandson for misguided patronisation
“In Armley Jail, you get no ale”
A ditty to same boy, courtesy of paternal rooted gramps
Tongue in cheek indoctrination of folly of crime
Ancestors DNA disparate, humour homogenous.

WWII paters, with weapons of wit
Advice in 70s from men in their 70’s
Erudite advisors with larking demeanour
Unconditionally they enlighten the conditional
Lighting rooms with banter, Lighting tobacco with habit
Their ardours ITV Seven dovetailing Leeds United eleven
Both sought merriment in peers and piers.

Grandson covets forefathers of kindred spirit
Their tongue in cheek, his cheek in tongue
Melancholy manifests, impetus deprived confab of adulthood
Yeti desires meeting once again
It’s over thirty years since grandson met forefathers
Yet still they live through his banter inane
Legacy to the boy and generations forthwith.

So glad to have you back where you belong
Satchmo’s salutations bestowed on returning Ms Levi
In Wakey suburbia, brood replicates Louis’ greeting, though pater recipient
Dolly replaced lyrically by Mally, apologies to Herman
A score and eleven sunsets incarcerated in bosom of healthcare institution
Octogenarian gaunt on return, though blessedly without canker of departure.

Unlike Ms Levi, no room swaying or band playing for old chap
No song from way back when
Judge, though, not on undemonstrative family show
Unmitigated delight pulses through broods veins
A month his struggle, 31 days clan purgatory
Recuperation priority, Yorkshireman’s return to institute not option.

Dodging the raindrops, umbrella arbitrary
Amongst plethora o’ undeserving thorns, a rose though not fragrant
Even though ‘team’ in maintenance, selflessness forthcoming not
No ‘i’ in lager but matters not to the misguided ego.

Yeti despairs at union with family fuckwit
Joyless brood, bereft of intelligence, volition negativity
Paragraph four of this sonnet is bequeathed to your last score year memories
Also incorporate visits since terminally ill daughter’s diagnosis six winters past
Regardless, the scorer won’t be troubled
Plenty time to enjoy next world heat, no distraction from trip down memory lane.

———————————————————-

Inconsistency by Adage

“I’m a lover not a fighter.” Jacko instructs Macca, argument over girl
“I’m a fighter not a lover.” claims erectility dysfunctional pugilist
“I’m a lothario not a blothario.” says misguided maker up of adages
“I’m a blothario not a lothario.” responds peer equally adept at adage incorrect.

“It’s better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all.” advice to heartbroken buddy
“It’s better to have never loved, than loved and lost that idiot!” Aunt Maude opines
“Err on the side of caution when the crow’s fly south.” controversial advice from twitcher
“When crow’s fly south, fuck caution.” equally controversial advise from Uncle Frank.

Flotsam and jetsam,
What will norn man’s debris include at conclusion?
Venture horribilis to render his destination in situ sedimentary?
Or re-invigorated endurance aftermath consequential reward?
Is it too much to expect that norn man appropriates existential augmentation?

What Identity Crisis?

Over two hundred year roots in county of reverence
Place of birth and 1960’s appearance by grace of god
Baby boom nipper, Hyde Terrace emergence
Taken northward while still fledgling.

Birds not on drift southward, as in migration
Baby boomer appreciative of area resettled
Despite heart always being beckoned by genesis
Tormented, though abandonment of forefathers situ not option.

Refusal to acquiesce on identity isn’t without repercussions
Mind scrambled by unrelenting tribalism, foolhardy or not
Been back in roots domain over score years
Repercussions not banished, though baby boomer tormented no more.

Arbitrary Rhyming Poem

Achromatic canvas, sheet of white
I bequeath you my prose; I hope it’s not sh!te
Like driven snow, virginal coupon
Apologies for staining thee by spilling my soup on (Look you try get a rhyme with coupon!)
Chaste paper, bereft of type
My spicy lunch is giving me gripe
Cream parchment, untenanted voucher
Prepare for mountaineering tale by W.A.Poucher (Chuffing hell I’m not making this easy!)
Note paper magnolia, arbitrary of rhyme
Please forgive me for my literary crime
Now rendered with words, no long feel bare
The tongue in cheek nonsense from a guy with back hair
I look out my window at scarlet begonias
Aaaarrrgggh bollocks…… I’ve just stubbed my toe on a chair leg!

Part of the Reality Show

Evincing patience is virtuous, so proverb claims
An idiom once steadfastly embraced by the proletariat
Instant gratification, though, now king in kingdom of the self-entitled
In vogue devices deemed a human right by the misguided
Even politics gives impression this is all a reality TV show
When phone lines open, vote using my on-screen number.

Do I deserve your ballot support? Probably not
It matters not though; a quarter hour later the winner disappears
Unless lesson taken, resurfacing 5 years hence, 25 lbs heavier
To yet again becoming a side-show for the prurient masses
Throw in a sob story, your participation is guaranteed for another week
Throw in the towel, Warhol’s 15 minute fame baton passes to Stoke bloke.

If one can’t prevail, another adage suggests to join ‘em
But I’ve had a word with Em and I’m not welcome on ‘The Voice’
Restraining orders scupper plans to croon for Midlands beauty
Black Eyed Peas geezer and Leeds fan Ricky dodge a baritone bullet
Maybe Ant & Dec can facilitate my quarter of an hour in the sun
It’s a thought, but I’ll not splash on the factor 20 just yet.

Service Levels Over Spirit Levels

Collateral damage, or casualty plot clandestine?
Plot to cull with plot to kill?
Austerity frontage; cleansing of unwashed behind shield?
Poet of no political leaning, unsure of ruling class motives
Will they ever tire of gorging on Wonka’s lifetime supply of goodies?

Mr and Mrs Lateral-Damages son Colin unfortunate consequence
His profile high, subsequently results in proletariat demeanour low
Mrs Call’s son Fu, procrastinates; spirit broken in box ticking role
Only comfort his post work pint; buy one hangover get another free
Mr Soul’s son Caring, thought less of than odious brother Richard.

Scaremongering merges with spite; this sun needs no factor 30
PC political correctness misguidedly given precedence over PC police constable
Administrator’s service levels diminish medics spirit levels
Those levels have no chance of balance; not when there’s a box to tick
Only parity the ineptness of dwellers on whole of political spectrum.
Conversations Around The Coven

Conversations around the coven
Non-existent words, non-existent humanity
Locutions from locations without erudition
You can fool some of the people all of the time
Like hound dog mistreated, yeti will have his day.